


Cake & Conspiracies

by Flowerparrish



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fake Dating, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fic, a little bit of angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 22:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18903886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: “This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”ORClint and Bucky fake an engagement so they can go cake tasting for their fake wedding.





	Cake & Conspiracies

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Eva (bringyourownboyd on tumblr), who sent me the prompt. Thanks go out to Sasha, because when I sent my fake dating intentions, they challenged me on the cake tasting front. 
> 
> Also, hit my Clint Barton Bingo fill for: "Didn't know they were dating"
> 
> Last note, I wrote this in one sitting, literally, and it is not beta read. Please feel free to point out any glaring errors, but also know - this was meant to be a speed challenge to myself. I know it's not perfect, but I really enjoyed writing it, and I think y'all might enjoy reading it, too.

“I need you to fake date me.”

 

Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading— _The Left Hand of Darkness—_ and sees Clint standing in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 

Bucky holds his page with his finger, because he’s at a _good part,_ what the fuck, and says, “What?” in his most polite tone, one that only implies a hint of murder. Polite, because Clint is one of his best friends, but murder, because really, who interrupts someone when they’re reading?

 

“I need you to fake date me,” Clint repeats, and the words finally register in Bucky’s brain.

 

“What the actual fuck,” he says, but he’s rather calm about it, all things considered, because one does not become close friends with Clint Barton and not have an ability to roll with requests like this one.

 

That does _not_ mean he’s going to do it. Very much the opposite.

 

See, the thing is. It’s just that. Well. Fake dating the person you have a crush on seems like a _very_ bad idea. Bucky doesn’t hate himself enough (these days) to subject himself to that kind of misery.

 

He is kind of curious, though. “Why would I do that?” he asks. Clint’s still standing there, rocking on the balls of his heels, but he’s clearly been letting Bucky get a handle on the whole of the idiotic request before he barrels on. He knows Bucky likes to have time to think things through, whether they’re mission strategies or pizza orders. He’s always been attentive like that.

 

Fuck, it’s things like that that make Bucky want to _real_ date him.

 

“My favorite bakery has started doing wedding cakes,” Clint tells him, like that’s an answer and not a random non sequitur.   

 

“Okay?” Bucky prompts, when that’s all Clint says.

 

Clint sighs. “I want to do a cake tasting, but to do that, I need a significant other. Well. Fiancé.”

 

Bucky blinks. “So, just to be clear here, you don’t just want me to fake date you, you want me to fake _marry_ you?”

 

“Uh,” Clint says, and then, “yeah,” in a voice that says he knows just how stupid it sounds but he’s saying it anyway.

 

“Why didn’t you ask Natasha?”

 

“She wouldn’t fake marry me if her life depended on it,” he recites, as if by rote. “She made it very clear during our partnership at SHIELD.”

 

Bucky is getting ready to say, “of course I’m not going to fake date you so we can go wedding cake tasting.” He opens his mouth, and the words that tumble out start promising, and end in a way that has him wanting to punch himself in the face, or maybe scream into a pillow. He says, “This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” 

 

***

 

They approach it like a mission for two reasons. One, because that’s the only way Bucky’s going to maintain his sanity in this whole ordeal. Two, because Clint has actually not planned any of this out _at all._

 

“You were just going to sign us up to go cake tasting? Did you even research what cake tasting for a wedding entails?”

 

Clint shrugs. Blows a paper straw wrapper and sends it floating lazily into a trash can across the room. Says, “They give you a bunch of cake to try, right?”

 

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, but there’s probably more to it than just that.”

 

He does research. Even the cursory beginnings of that research—a google search of “what does cake tasting entail”—reveals that there is so much more to this than either of them would have anticipated. Apparently you have to have the entire fucking wedding planned first.

 

Bucky breaks this up into phases.

 

Phase one: convince everyone they’ve been dating all along. Because they are _public figures,_ so people are going to know they’re full of shit if they just show up cake tasting one day.

 

“Are we telling the team the truth?” he asks Clint.

 

“Are you going to be able to keep it from Steve?” Clint retorts.

 

Bucky thinks about telling Steven Grant Rogers, to his face, that he was stupid enough to agree to plan a fake wedding with the guy he’s been crushing on, hard, for too long. “Yes,” he says with 100% confidence. “I absolutely will be able to keep it from Steve.”

 

Clint shrugs. “Okay, then sure, let’s go for broke. We’ll convince _everyone—_ except Nat—that we’re dating and we’ve been dating.”

 

Phase One goes poorly at first. They sit next to each other at team movie nights, and Clint slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. They play footsie when they’re sitting at the island counter in the kitchen in the mornings. Nothing seems to stick. No one comments. The closest they come to getting a reaction is Natasha smirking at them over the rim of her coffee cup.

 

“What are we doing wrong?” Clint laments. “Maybe they expect us to be even _more_ pda?”

 

Bucky thinks he’s going to spontaneously combust if he has to hold Clint’s hand.

 

Before it gets to that point, Steve mercifully brings it up on one of their morning runs. In that, out of nowhere, he comments, “It’s nice that you and Clint are being more open about your relationship.”

 

Bucky trips over his own feet and narrowly avoids going down face first onto the pavement. “What?” he asks, when he catches himself and gets his stride back. His voice comes out even—score.

 

“None of us wanted to pressure you when you hadn’t said anything to the team about it,” Steve says. “But we’re all glad to see you two becoming more comfortable being open around us.”

 

Bucky is floored. He says, “Thanks, Stevie,” and keeps in the laughter until he can grab Clint and drag him into the nearest empty space—a linen closet that could fit all of Bucky’s clothes, twice.

 

“What the hell?” Clint asks, bewildered. In the faint light from under the crack of the door, Bucky can see that Clint’s smiling.

 

“They already thought we were dating,” he finally gets out, once his laughter is under control. “No one’s said anything because they were giving us time to tell them or some shit like that.”

 

“Oh my god,” Clint chokes out through his own laughter. “Oh my god.”

 

Phase One continues with making their relationship public. They don’t make a statement—that’s not either of their style—but they start doing the things they did in the tower to convince everyone they were dating, but out there in the real world, in public. It takes a bit longer than Bucky anticipates, but not _too_ long, for rumors to start to circulate.

 

He blames it on the one time they were taking a walk in central park, discussing climbing trees and the best vantage points for when a fight inevitably happens in such a famous location, when Clint reaches out and grabs his hand.

 

Bucky doesn’t spontaneously combust. Instead, he feels warm, the way you feel after the first sip of hot chocolate when you’ve been out in the snow. It feels _right._

 

He’s going to _die._

 

They show up on social media later that day, with the hashtag “winterhawk” on Twitter—Bucky ignores the people who try to argue that their couple name should be “clucky,” because he hates it and won’t give it the time of day—and pictures of them in the park holding hands filling up Avengers feeds.

 

They go on fake dates. They go to the movies, where they sit at the back and in a corner, because Bucky doesn’t like dark rooms full of people, but he does like watching Clint smile and laugh and throw popcorn at the screen. They go to the aquarium, because it sounds stupid and they both think it will be funny, and it almost is until Clint gets excited when he gets to pet a stingray, and Bucky _aches_ with how badly he wants to kiss him. They go out to dinner regularly, a few times a week, most of them to pizza places or Italian places that serve pizza, but a few times to more upscale restaurants that they both hate and make fun of the whole time.

 

It's really… fun, is the thing. Dating Clint. But in the back of his mind, Bucky can’t get rid of the knowledge that this isn’t real. That it’s everything he wants, but he can’t even _enjoy_ it.

 

Either way, the population at large is enamored with their Avengers romance, and Fox news has run no less than three specials about how they’re destroying family values in America and should be kicked off of the team, and it’s… fine.

 

***

 

Phase Two is planning the wedding.

 

Bucky does not buy Clint a ring. He knows better than to break his own heart on purpose.

 

So he’s surprised when one day, Clint goes down on one knee and offers him a sleek black ring with silver arrows embossed on it.

 

It’s so perfect that he doesn’t even think about the fact that no one’s around to see him say yes. It’s so perfect that for a few minutes, he lets himself pretend it’s real.

 

So Clint tweets a picture of Bucky wearing the ring with the caption “he said yes,” and “winterhawk” is top trending for the second time in a handful of months.

 

Bucky regrets his entire life.

 

They plan a quiet wedding. They decide to have it at one of Tony’s properties upstate that they once visited as a team, in the ridiculous garden that the place has. They plan the colors—purple and silver—and the date and who their groomspersons will be.

 

Bucky wishes, more than anything, that it was real. But at least it’s almost over.

 

They set up three cake tastings, to make it look real. Pepper picks the other two, because Clint doesn’t care and Bucky can’t be bothered, and it just so happens that the way the dates line up, Clint’s favorite bakery, a small business in Queens, is scheduled last.

 

The first place is fine. They ask all the questions Bucky has prepared for, and he and Clint answer to the best of their ability. They hold hands. They taste cakes. The cakes are phenomenal. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re not actually getting married.

 

They promise to get in touch with their decision soon.

 

The second place is also fine… kind of. They ask for Bucky and Clint’s engagement pictures, to get a feel for their “relationship dynamic,” and are shocked when Bucky and Clint admit they don’t have any. But they taste the cakes, and the cakes are fine.

 

It’s just before the third cake tasting that everything starts to come to a head.

 

Bucky’s out wandering in Brooklyn, something he only does when he’s really feeling angsty and nostalgic, and he passes by a jewelry store. Something in the window catches his eye, and when he sees it, he knows.

 

It’s a ring that’s patterned in a way that makes it look like interlocking plates. It’s silver. It’s perfect.

 

Clint wouldn’t wear a ring, he knows; it would get in the way of shooting his bow. But it would look just as good on a chain around his neck.

 

Before he knows it, he’s bought it, and then he thinks, well, _fuck._ Because he’s got an engagement ring for the guy he wants to marry for real, the guy he’s planned an entire wedding with, and that’s a step too far.

 

“We have to stop,” Bucky says into the phone, and he doesn’t realize he’s called Clint until Clint replies.

 

“What?”

 

“We have to stop fake dating.”

 

“Why?” Clint sounds confused. He sounds hurt. Bucky doesn’t want to hurt him, but… well, he’s sick of hurting himself in all of this.

 

He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and says, “Because I want to actually marry you, you idiot, and all of this is kind of breaking my fucking heart.”

 

He hangs up before Clint can reply.

 

He wanders around Brooklyn for a while longer until he can no longer stand the weight of the ring in his pocket, and then he stops. He leans against the building he’s next to, pulls the ring case out of his pocket, and stares at it.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s lost in thought before he hears, “Hey,” and looks up to see the very last person he wants to see approaching him.

 

“Clint,” he acknowledges. He goes to shove the ring back in his pocket, but there’s no way Clint hasn’t seen it yet, so he doesn’t.

 

“Is that…?” Clint starts to ask, and trails off. He leans on the wall next to Bucky, but he looks straight ahead—not at the ring, not at Bucky’s face.

 

The lack of scrutiny gives Bucky the strength to respond. He sighs, and he says, “Yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Clint says. “Well, fuck.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees humorlessly.

 

“No,” Clint says, fast, words almost cutting Bucky’s off. “You don’t get it.” He turns his head, and now Bucky can see him looking out of the corner of his eye. “I thought I was the only one who wanted it to be real.”

 

Bucky processes those words, and he doesn’t turn to look at Clint. He can’t, not yet. He needs to think—to evaluate them. He knows Clint wouldn’t lie to him, especially about something like this, but he also… doesn’t know how to believe him, either.

 

“Since when?” he finally asks.

 

“From the start.” The words have the air of a confession. “Before, even.”

 

“Why didn’t you just say something like a normal person?”

 

Clint laughs. It’s completely devoid of humor, a self-recriminating sound. “Have you met me?”

 

It’s a fair point. And it sort of has the side benefit of making all of this real, because yeah, Clint is exactly the kind of person who would come up with this kind of convoluted scheme as a way of trying to make his feelings clear. That’s exactly the kind of guy Bucky has fallen for.

 

He turns his head and meets Clint’s eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” Clint says. He smiles, but it’s sad still.

 

Bucky can’t have that.

 

“You’re lucky I love you anyway,” he says.

 

He sees the moment the words process. Clint’s eyes widen, and his mouth curves up into a real smile. “Yeah?” he asks, nothing but genuine hope in his voice.

 

Bucky has to grin back. “Yeah,” he agrees. And then, because he’s been going for broke from the start and it got him this far, he drops to one knee and opens the ring box. “Clint Barton, will you marry me?”

 

Clint stares at him for a few moments, each lasting an eternity longer than the one before it. “Holy shit,” he chokes out finally. “Holy shit, holy shit, yes. Hell yes!”

 

He reaches down and grabs Bucky’s arms, yanking him back onto his feet, and then he kisses him soundly, their arms crushed between them. It’s awkward, until it isn’t. Until it’s just the same warmth he felt when they first held hands, but magnified.

 

It’s just _right._

 

***

 

The third cake tasting is better than the other two. It’s not only better because they’re _actually_ getting married now, putting all of their fake plans into motion, but also because the cake is an orgasmic experience.

 

“Our wedding is going to be responsible for a _lot_ of amazing sex,” Clint agrees when Bucky shares his opinion later that night. They’re sitting in Clint’s living room, pouring over their wedding plans, papers and tablets and fabric swatches spread out around them on every surface and the majority of the floor.

 

“Maybe we should start now,” Bucky suggests. “Get ahead of things. Make sure we know what we’re doing when the time comes.”

 

“Yeah?” Clint asks, heat creeping into his tone. “What did you have in mind?”

 

Bucky reaches over and hauls Clint into a kiss, hand cupping his jaw. “Anything. Everything.”

 

“That’s a tall order,” Clint points out. “You’re right. We better get started now.”

 

Bucky laughs, and Clint’s smile is so happy that his eyes are sparkling, and Bucky’s never been happier or more in love than in this moment.

 

So maybe it wasn’t the _worst_ plan ever.


End file.
